It’s late. I’m tired. I would have written this ages ago but I’ve been trying to write the correct response to a difficult eBay person in Sweden who wants everything for nothing. I can’t just tell him to go boil his head, as damage to the rating is a serious handicap on eBay. It’s exhausting striking the balance. I’m tired anyway.
I’ve been wearing big heads again in a window on Brook Street, smile painted on, waving to people. Thankfully nobody was in the room with me apart from my working partner who’s a close friend. I got a call halfway through the day that led to me swearing blind for about 3 solid hours on the other side of my drawn on smile. At one point I even had a little cry. Textbook sad mascot work.
Just an audition not landing. Nothing real or serious. Happens all the time. Never gets easier, though.
Man I love it when they offer me the part without having to audition. I hate loathe and detest the things. They bring all my insecurities to the front – as if my life choices are being judged and found wanting. I forget all the things that are front and centre when I work. I usually hit the bottle as soon as I’m out of an audition to forget, so it’s good that I’m sober these days as I could break it down for myself and use the knowledge to improve. After this one I drove to Brighton. I knew I’d been off colour, and had time on the drive to get to the bottom of why I didn’t serve myself well.
Next time, nervous or not, I’ll eat first. It was at 7pm. I didn’t eat all day for nerves. I almost passed out halfway through a sentence after getting up too quickly in order to get it out of the way. I froze for a good five seconds while my head filled with blood. I lost track of myself completely. Then I just talked shit for about twenty seconds. Doing stuff out of context with an assessing audience rather than a real audience? It’s like throwing a dead chicken and telling yourself it’s flying.
Nonetheless, both the choosing people in the room were known to me. But not in an uncomplicated manner. Lessons to carry to the recall? A chance to rebuild a bridge?
Yeah, I was upset. It’s a kick in the teeth. But maybe it’s for the best. Fox and the grapes? Well, it would’ve been fun. It looked like the only gig in town. It would’ve been a year out of life. It would’ve been exhausting, all consuming, a small community, new friends, hard work, passion. I would have loved it and thrived and played and brought loads. But I always do that. So I’ll do it somewhere else. There’ll be other gigs, despite those monumental fuckwits at Westminster deliberately trying to bin us because they don’t see value in our sector because nobody’s run the numbers and they all just follow Cummings who is a literal actual sociopath and thus of course is unable comprehend art.
Things will wake up. I don’t have to be loved by everybody. And I suspect I’ll need to be available for the incredible things that are coming my way. I look forward to the day when I can say with a dancing heart “Thank fuck I didn’t get that gig – I wouldn’t be here.”
But just for a bit I’ll feel sad. Because I got swept up in a dream that popped.